


Table Etiquette

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hand Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Hand Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7887865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fitz gets revenge, he and Jemma both win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Table Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> For [this “Semi-NSFW” prompt post](http://unbreakablejemmasimmons.tumblr.com/post/149528020932/semi-nsfw-meme-send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number) on Tumblr, jemmasimmuns requested “Fitzsimmons + trying to go down on the other, under the table, during dinner.” After a v. srs discussion with eclecticmuses re: smut logistics, I decided to modify the prompt a little bit. Thanks also to Steph for general cheerleading and coming up with the title!
> 
> This is technically a sequel to [this minific](http://unbreakablejemmasimmons.tumblr.com/post/149531695672/fitzsimmons-22-pls), but can be read on its own.

“This is quite nice,” Jemma mused to Fitz as she followed the host to a table in the back of the restaurant. It was a place they hadn’t been before, sleek and trendy but not overly crowded.

“Your server will be with you shortly,” said the host, setting a pair of menus on top of the crisp white tablecloth and disappearing. Jemma slid into the booth side of the table, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her lap as she did. She picked up the cocktail list and was absorbed in the description of the seasonal Pimm’s Cup, so she was surprised when Fitz slid into the booth as well instead of sitting at one of the chairs across from her, like she’d expected.

“What are you doing?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Can’t I want to be close to you?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes. “You always used to make fun of _those_ couples. The kind that sit on the same side of the table on dates.”

“A man’s allowed to change his mind, you know.” He pulled the cocktail list closer to him so they could both see it and began to read. She watched him suspiciously for a moment, but then their server appeared with waters, and she supposed they were just the type of couple that sat on the same side of the table now.

When their cocktails arrived, Fitz held up his glass.

“Cheers,” he said, and she clinked hers against it with a bemused smile on her face.

“To what are we cheersing?”

He just shrugged. “It’s a special occasion.”

Her suspicion crept back in, and she sipped her drink as she squinted at him. “It is?”

“Sure.”

Jemma knew there was nothing particularly special about the date-- no anniversaries, not even of the first time they’d successfully completed a project together or the first time they’d fallen asleep in front of the TV watching Doctor Who. She also knew he didn’t have a ring in his pocket. They’d discussed _that_ eventuality a few times, and both agreed it was still a little ways off.

So what on earth could be special about this night?

“Just wait for it,” he whispered into her ear, leaning in close. He scooted a few inches to his left so that their thighs were pressed together, and rested his hand lightly on her right knee, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin there. She frowned in spite of the warmth that spread through her at his touch.

“Would you like cracked ground pepper on these?” Their server set a salad bowl in front of each of them-- mixed greens for Jemma, Caesar for Fitz. They both accepted a sprinkling of pepper and dug in, his hand still playing at her knee. Between bites, Fitz changed the subject to the tests they’d run in the lab earlier that day, and Jemma pushed any doubts to the back of her mind.

 

 

“That was delicious,” Fitz said, pushing his entree plate away from him. All that remained on the plate were a few errant vegetables and a smear of sauce.

“Indeed,” Jemma said, swallowing a last bite of her mahi mahi. “How did you find this place? It’s quite nice, but I haven’t heard of it before.”

Fitz had moved his left hand from her knee to eat his dinner, requiring both hands to properly use a knife and fork, but now that he’d finished eating, he returned it to its spot on her leg, if a few inches higher than before. The tips of his fingers began to toy with the hem of her dress.

“I was searching for the right place on Yelp,” he answered. “Something with a reputation for good food, of course. Nice drinks. Dim lighting.”

 _Hang on_. “You filtered your search for dim lighting?”

He quirked an eyebrow, looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, and nodded.

“Why?”

“Told you. It’s a special occasion.”

With that, Jemma placed her fork on her plate a little louder than was strictly necessary, shifting in place to face him better. “What on earth are you on about, Fitz? What’s the occasion?”

He bit his lip, and the tip of his index finger drew concentric circles on the newly-accessible skin of her inner thigh. She tried not to shiver and raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer.

“Revenge,” he said at last, just as the waiter came over to take their plates and drop off a dessert menu.

“Can I interest you in the chocolate torte?” he asked, and Fitz nodded up at the man.

“That sounds good to me.” He glanced at Jemma. “What do you think?” Still reeling, she could only nod, and Fitz turned back to the waiter. “We may need a little time to digest, though. Could you wait a bit to put our dessert order in? Twenty minutes, or so?” The man nodded graciously and retreated, and they were left alone.

“What do you mean, _revenge_? Revenge for what?” Jemma’s brow furrowed, and she could almost ignore the way that Fitz’s left hand seemed to be creeping ever so slightly up the inside of her thigh. He leaned his right elbow on the table, which seemed to give him a better angle, and he began to trail his fingertips up and down, from her mid-thigh to the inside of her knee and back again. She was grateful for the tablecloth that hung down along all sides of the table, obscuring whatever was going on from anyone’s view.

“Remember Coulson’s briefing after the mission last Sunday night?” he asked casually, his chin resting on his hand. Jemma thought back, though she didn’t need to rack her brain to remember it-- it had been late, and they’d been tired, and she’d decided to keep Fitz awake during the debriefing with an innocent game of footsie.

“Yes,” she said, disliking the way her voice sounded a little more breathless than usual. He met her gaze and the corner of his mouth ticked up just slightly into a smirk.

“Revenge for that.”

Before she could argue that she’d _thoroughly_ followed through on her teasing after they’d left the briefing room, he ran his hand swiftly but surely up the inside of her thigh beneath her dress. Without meaning to, she parted her legs to grant him better access, looking wild-eyed around the restaurant to make sure no one was watching them. Fortunately, their table was nestled into a dark back corner, and though the place wasn’t exactly deserted, the tables closest to them were empty.

“Fitz,” she hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He nudged at her left thigh with his knuckles, urging her to part her legs even more. She did.

“What do _you_ think I’m doing?” he countered, and cut off any answer she might have offered by lightly brushing his fingertips against the fabric of her panties. She let out a little gasp, then shut her mouth and swallowed dryly. She reached for her water and took a long sip, her gaze on the painting hanging on the wall across from them, on the flower arrangement adorning their table-- anywhere but Fitz. The tips of his fingers skimmed up and down a few times, and she could feel herself flushing all over.

“I think you’re trying to get us kicked out of this lovely new restaurant,” she choked out, and he chuckled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jemma could practically hear her heart pounding as the seconds ticked by. She licked her lips, and he laughed again, the low sound sending a bolt of heat through her.

“Didn’t think so.”

He pressed against her with a firmer touch, and she cleared her throat. She idly thought that the angle with which he was touching her must be uncomfortable for his wrist, and without thinking twice, she slid down an inch or two in the booth. For the sake of logistics, of course.

His fingers moved up and down, up and down, and she felt herself growing wetter with each stroke. He could probably feel it through the thin fabric of her underwear, and that thought made her shiver, her toes curling.

“You’re such a tease, Fitz,” she said under her breath, and she heard him scoff, even as she still refused to look at him.

“ _I’m_ the tease?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And what are you, then?”

“I follow through.”

A pause. “Okay,” he said, and his voice sounded a note deeper than it had before. He took a shaky breath and then trailed his fingers up and over her pubic bone, higher still until the tips of them could hook into the lacy elastic of her panties and slip back down, skin on skin. Jemma sighed raggedly and leaned forward so her elbows rested on the table like his, unable to care if it made the angle more or less difficult for him.

He ran just his middle finger along her seam for a few teasing seconds, then let it slip inside, parting her with his other fingers. Jemma pressed her mouth into a tight line to avoid making any kind of sound that might give them away, her unfocused gaze still darting around the dim restaurant. Fitz swirled his finger a few times, collecting her wetness, then made one feather-light pass, then two, over her clit. She bit down on her lip to keep from making an embarrassing whimper of a sound.

Fitz slid his hand down a bit to play at her opening, dipping just inside, but the angle wasn’t ideal for penetration. No matter. His fingers returned to her clit in earnest, this time circling around it again and again, and Jemma clasped her hands tightly together on top of the table.

“‘s that good?” Fitz whispered, and all she could do was nod rapidly yes. Her breathing was coming fast and hard, and she noticed that his was, too-- he seemed just as turned on by this as she was.

He picked up his rhythm, rubbing quick circles around and over her clit, again and again, and this time Jemma couldn’t help the tiny sounds that came from the back of her throat. With her mouth shut tight and no diners nearby, she could almost be sure that no one could hear her. She could _definitely_ be sure that she no longer cared if they could.

Fitz’s circles began to get increasingly messy and arhythmic, so he adjusted his motion and started to rub up and down over the same spot, over and over and over. Jemma fought the urge to push up against his hand, instead arching forward to lean more heavily against the table. She stared down at the dessert menu in front of her without really seeing it, focusing only on the sound of his ragged breathing and the pleasure that started in her center and zinged throughout her body. She was close, and by the way he sped up his movements, he could tell.

He rubbed at her frenetically, occasionally dipping down to gather more wetness, increasing his pressure ever so slightly. Her breathing sped up to match, and she could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within her.

“Don’t stop,” she muttered, her thighs tensing.

“Never,” he whispered back. With one more quick pass over her clit, she felt herself let go, biting down hard on her lip as the waves of pleasure struck her again and again, trying her hardest not to cry out. Fitz’s fingers slowed, then stopped, slipping out from her panties and back down along her thigh. He squeezed her knee again as she tried to get her breathing back under control, and she could feel his fingers slick against her skin. Finally, after several long moments, she was able to look at Fitz again.

“That was your idea of revenge?” she breathed, and he chuckled. His cheeks were tinged pink, his eyes dazed.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“You truly are an evil genius.” He laughed, and after a second, reached out for his glass of water, taking a long gulp from it. She did the same, feeling equally parched, before turning her full attention back to her villainous, dexterous boyfriend.

As they watched each other breathlessly, a chocolate torte appeared as if by magic in front of them on the table.

“Your dessert,” said the waiter, setting down the check in a black leather folder next to the plate before disappearing again.

Fitz immediately reached for his wallet, tucking a credit card into the folder without so much as glancing at the bill. He met Jemma’s eyes again and licked his lips.

“Suddenly I’m not so hungry for dessert,” he said, and she smirked, her heartbeat finally slowing to a more normal rhythm.

“Me either,” she said. “Not that kind, anyway.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to hang out on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


End file.
